


Mischief Inc.

by MereLoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (You don't see it in the story but it's hinted at), Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Derek is kind of a nerd and Stiles totally digs it, Isaac Lahey & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Jewish Character, M/M, Mentions of inappropriate past relationships, Older Stiles Stilinski, References to Isaac's past abuse (all off camera/not shown in story), Tattoo Artist Stiles Stilinski, mentions of physical abuse, tattoo artist Isaac Lahey, younger Derek hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 13:11:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MereLoup/pseuds/MereLoup
Summary: Stiles has a thing for the hot teenager who keeps coming into his tattoo shop.





	Mischief Inc.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year everyone! 
> 
> Tattoo AUs are one of my favorite AU genres, so I decided to write one of my own! I know it's not the fic most people are hoping I'd update **cough cough _Liquid Gold_ cough**, but fear not, I'll update it soon.
> 
> I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I'm flinging it out into the universe nonetheless. This is pretty tame, compared to what I usually write, lol. I hope y'all like it! 
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting on my stories! I appreciate the love more than you know, and even though I don't know you all individually, I carry you with me in my heart!!!
> 
> *  
>  **POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNINGS: See End Notes for more detail.**  
>  So we all know Isaac's father was garbage, and Isaac's abusive past gets referenced in story. Also, Stiles dated an unsavory character in the past, and he feels some type of way about it today. It keeps popping up when it pertains to Derek. And third, uh, swearing? I come from a long line of trash mouths, so, swearing doesn't really bother me. Plus, tattoo artists tend to use a lot of harsh language in general. So, if swearing isn't your jam...uh...be warned?

*

Stiles sat behind the front counter of the tattoo shop, manning the post while Liam was out getting food. He was so wrapped up in his sketchbook that he didn’t even look up when he heard the bell on the door, and instead just called out an unenthusiastic, “How’s it going?” 

“I’m good,” came the soft-voiced reply, “And yourself?”

“Can’t complain, man” Stiles replied, still not looking up. He ran his hand through his hair before stashing his pen behind his ear. “Let me know if you need anything.”

The Stranger grunted in response, and Stiles absently tracked the footsteps as he walked to the table just to Stiles’ left, which held the artist portfolios. 

After a few minutes Stiles finally closed his sketchbook, sighing as he sat up straight and rotated his wrist to work out the tension. He sat back a bit in his chair and looked up, deciding to actually engage with the guy in the shop and see if he needed anything. 

When Stiles got a look at the stranger, the words died on his tongue and he was taken aback by exactly how good looking he was. 

Completely oblivious to Stiles’ perving, Hot Stranger didn’t seem as though he needed anything from Stiles just yet, so instead of engaging him, Stiles just sat back and observed as Hot Stranger through the mirror as he perused the portfolios. 

He had inky black hair which was styled to perfection, and the kind of stubble that Stiles desperately wanted to feel scratching the inside of thighs while he was hard, dripping, and being slowly fingered open by this tall, scruffy, handsome stranger. 

Stiles thought the blazer and slacks seemed a bit formal for day wear --especially in a tattoo shop down by the pier--, but Stiles wasn’t going to complain because the stranger wore the hell out of it. 

Stiles eyes hungrily traced over the stranger’s broad back, easily spotting the faint rippling of muscles as he flipped through the pages of the portfolio. The navy blue slacks hugged his ass perfectly, and pulled tightly against his thighs if they would tear in half if he so much as flexed.

The guy exuded sex appeal, and he was exactly the kind of guy Stiles spent many nights fantasizing about at night with his eyes closed and his hands beneath the sheets. 

And as lame as it sounded, it wasn't just Hot Stranger’s looks that caught Stiles’ attention. After working in various tattoo shops before finally opening his own, Stiles could pick out, almost instantly, those who were serious about getting ink and those who weren’t. 

Stiles watched the way Hot Stranger’s eyes roamed over each page in the portfolio, taking in the artwork and silently critiquing it in his head. He could tell he wasn’t like most of the randoms that wandered into the shop who just flip through the artist portfolios without intent, before just picking out flash from the wall. 

And, sure, there was nothing wrong with flash. Everyone at Mischief Inc. would do flash if a client asked them to. But every artist loves the chance to create a piece for a client, and really give them the chance to show off their creativity. So whenever someone came in looking for something custom, everyone in the shop swarmed the front area, hoping the client would choose them to bring their vision to life. 

Stiles could tell that Hot Stranger wasn’t looking for designs, he was looking at technique. As he examined the portfolio’s pages, he wasn’t so much looking at the pieces as he was the _way_ each artist had gone about the piece, bringing it to life with their design, skill, choice of color, and attention to detail. 

Tall, dark and handsome, _and_ he wanted a custom tattoo? Stiles was halfway in love already. 

Stiles was a lot of things, but shy was not one of them. So he decided to speak up and get a feel for what Hot Stranger was looking for. He chanced a quick glance at the mirror making sure his hair looked good and he didn’t have ink on his face from absently chewing on his pen, before he cleared his throat and spoke.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Stiles moved out from around the counter, coming out to lean against the side of it, changing his position to something more relaxed that gave off the vibe of _you should totally ask for my number._ “Did you have any questions?”

Hot Stranger turned slightly, angling his body toward Stiles and shaking his head, grinning politely.

“Not yet. Thanks.”

But Stiles barely registered what he’d said because his eyes landed on Hot Stranger’s blazer. Specifically on the embroidered crest. And suddenly it didn’t matter that the vision straight out of Stiles’ wet dreams was standing right before him, because Stiles knew without a doubt that this was not gonna happen. 

_Fuck._

The crest on Hot Stranger’s blazer belonged to none other than Beacon Harbor Preparatory Academy, the city’s most prestigious private high school. 

Hot Stranger was a minor. 

If Stiles had seen him out at a concert or a bar, he would have definitely gone after him, no ifs, ands or buts. Stiles had no qualms about making the first move, because the odds were in his favor that the object of his affection would at least be legal. 

But the crest on that jacket --which put the entire outfit into context now-- was as bold as a bright red stop sign, screaming to Stiles that Hot Stranger is absolutely, one hundred percent, _totally_ off limits. 

Stiles schooled his features, wiping away all of his surprise and disappointment, and cleared his throat. 

Stiles finally composed himself, and cleared his throat to get Hot Stranger-- no, _The Kid_ ’s attention. 

“The shop is 18 and over, kid,” he sounded more apologetic than he’d meant to let on, so he crossed his arms over his chest, trying to appear friendly, but no-nonsense. 

The Kid turned to look at him with these piercing green-ish hazel eyes that Stiles just wanted to dive into. If Stiles was coming undone at The Kid’s profile alone, being on the receiving end of his direct stare was even worse. The Kid, quite simply put, was stunning. 

The Kid cocked an eyebrow slowly and deliberately, glancing down at the book in his hands and then back at Stiles. 

“Even to look at portfolios?” His tone was dry and incredulous, clearly not impressed with Stiles’ attempt at establishing dominance. 

(But Stiles was immune to this particular brand of sass and he didn’t even bat an eyelash. He’d put up with Isaac’s withering snark for sixteen years, okay? Compared to that, this kid was about as intimidating as a kitten.) 

“Yup,” Stiles replied, popping the P. “Can’t be in the shop if you’re underage. At least not without a legal guardian.”

The Kid’s shoulders slumped and he looked down at the portfolio longingly before he set it back down on the table. Seeing the look of disappointment on his face thawed Stiles’ heart somewhat, and he loosened up a bit. 

He walked up to the table and leaned around The Kid -- _Holy shit, is he wearing cologne? He smells fucking delicious!_ \-- to scoop up the portfolio. He tucked the portfolio, which happened to be Lydia’s, under his arm and headed toward the front door, gesturing for The Kid to follow. 

Together, they walked out the front door and Stiles pointed to two plastic chairs which sat in front of the giant glass window that had _Mischief Inc._ emblazoned in gold letters with red trim in Stiles’ elaborate script. Isaac had picked up the chairs a few years ago at a flea market, along with an repurposed whiskey barrel which served as a table. 

“You can look at portfolios out here,” Stiles moved the ashtray aside before setting portfolio on the barrel’s surface, using his foot to gently kick out one of the chairs for The Kid to sit on. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows, “The shop is eighteen and over.”

The Kid looked at the chair and then back at Stiles, rolling his eyes. 

“No minors allowed. Got it,” he replied, his tone caustic. The Kid was clearly annoyed with all the jumping through hoops. 

Stiles knew he was being ridiculous, but he didn’t care. He didn’t exactly want to deal with the torture of looking at what he couldn’t have. Underage meant he couldn’t be in the shop, and just because he was smoking hot didn’t mean he got to break the rules. 

As The Kid bent down to sit in the chair, Stiles didn’t miss the way the fabric of his slacks pulled even tighter across his thighs, showing off the corded muscles in his legs. 

_Does he have muscles everywhere?_ he groaned internally. _….wait, don’t finish that thought._ The Kid really was unfairly good looking. 

With a final nod, Stiles turned around and walked back into the shop, propping the door open just in case The Kid needed anything. 

Slipping back behind the counter, Stiles pulled out his appointment book and began working on the schedule for the shop. And if his eyes crept up to the window every now and then to trace the lines of The Kid’s profile, well, no one was there to judge him. 

*

Every so often, Stiles glanced up to make sure The Kid was still there and hadn’t taken off with Lydia’s portfolio. 

And each time he looked up, The Kid was there, scanning each page with the same focused intensity that he had when he was in the shop. Stiles could tell that The Kid really did want to get something done, and if he did, that would require actually being in the shop, right there within reach.

Stiles wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. 

He closed the appointment book and slipped it back under the counter. He pulled out his sketchbook and turned to a fresh page. 

His eyes darted up to The Kid one last time, studying the firm line of his jaw and the seriousness of his browline, before he looked back down to the page and started to draw. 

*

Stiles was on the phone dealing with a client when out of the corner of his eye he saw movement at the door. He looked over and saw The Kid peeking around the door, portfolio in hand. 

He made deliberate eye contact with Stiles as he bent over, pointedly not crossing the threshold into the shop, and set Lydia’s portfolio on the ground, leaning it against the wall with care. 

“I’d come in and put it back where it belongs,” he shouted into the doorway, “But the shop’s eighteen and over. Wouldn’t want to break the law.” He grinned smugly and stood back up, tossing Stiles a brief wave before he closed the door.

“Little shit,” Stiles murmured to himself as he watched The Kid walk past the front window, heading down the street.

Still, he couldn’t help the smirk that appeared onto his face, secretly appreciative of the kid’s sass.

*

About two weeks later, Stiles saw The Kid again. 

The shop had been closed for about an hour, and most of the artists had gone home already. Stiles decided to hang around and get some work done for a client who’d be coming in the following day.

He’d been hunched over the desk at his station finishing up the sketch for a custom piece. His muscles were tense from not moving around for so long, but he was in a groove and didn’t want to interrupt his flow. 

Eventually the stiffness became too much and Stiles sat up to stretch, rotating his neck to loosen up the muscles, he caught movement in his peripheral vision and looked over just in time to see The Kid through the window of the shop. 

As he walked by the window, The Kid’s eyes raked over everyone in the shop and when his gaze landed on Stiles, he paused. 

Stiles’ eyes snapped back down to his desk. The last thing he needed was for the kid to see him perving on him through the window. It’s not like he wanted to, he just couldn’t help it. _Jailbait or not, The Kid was gorgeous_.

His pen had just started moving over the paper again when the shop phone rang. 

Stiles groaned, closing his eyes briefly trying to push down the wave of annoyance. There were few things he hated more than being interrupted when he was in the middle of working on something for a client. Especially when the shop was closed. 

“Liam!” Stiles shouted, not moving from his desk. “Get the phone!”.

“He left early,” Isaac’s station was across from Stiles’ so he wasn’t exactly far away, but with his tattoo machine buzzing as he worked on a client, he wasn’t exactly easy to hear. 

“Fuck,” Stiles grumbled under his breath, slamming his pen down onto the sketchbook as he got up. He pushed up from his stool and half-jogged to the front counter to answer the phone. 

“Why didn’t Liam tell anyone he was heading out early?” he barked out.

“How the hell d’you think I knew he was gone, dumbass?” Isaac murmured, entirely unbothered by Stiles’ theatrics.

“Mischief Inc., this is Stiles,” he answered, only slightly out of breath, “What can I do for you?”

“Good evening, kind sir.” 

Stiles didn’t even have to look up. He knew exactly who that voice belonged to. But he did anyway. 

Out front of the front window, holding his phone to his ear and looking pointedly at Stiles, is The Kid. He looked pleased to have bothered Stiles as he waved, smiling smugly. 

“I wish to come inside and look at your portfolios, but alas, I am a lowly 17-year-old, unaccompanied by his guardian, and thus is not allowed by California State law to enter the premises. Might I convince you to bring me a portfolio so I may peruse it outdoors?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, simultaneously annoyed at being interrupted, but also amused at pure gall The Kid has. Seriously, The Kid is being kind of a shit. 

But, secretly, Stiles found his unabashed assholery strangely endearing.

 _Two can play this game._

Stiles moved out from behind the corner and walked toward the giant front window, standing as close to The Kid as he could with the glass separating the two of them.

“Which one do you want this time?”

The kid shrugged and his eyes flicked over to the portfolio table before meeting Stiles eyes again. 

“I saw Lydia’s last time. So...whichever one is next, I guess?”

Stiles had the strongest urge to stand behind the shop window as he flipped through the portfolio page by page, showing it to The Kid as if he was reading a story to a classroom full of children. 

But Stiles didn’t have the time and he really wanted to get back to his work. 

He ended the call without saying goodbye, and walked over to the counter. He picked Isaac’s portfolio at random and headed toward the door. 

Isaac was the only artist at Mischief Inc. who didn’t have any tattoos or piercings, and people were usually pretty skeptical about his talent when they first saw him. But once they got a look at his portfolio, they changed their minds pretty damn fast. 

Of all the artists at the shop, Isaac was the most in demand. He was consistently booked solid for months in advance, and he had clients who traveled from all over the country to get something done from him. And even if Isaac didn’t already have a great reputation amongst local artists, he’d been featured in nearly a dozen tattoo magazines both in the US, as well as abroad. 

To say his work was incredible was a massive understatement.

Stiles unlocked the door and stepped outside, where The Kid was sitting in one of the plastic chairs. His knee was bouncing up and down and his fingers were fidgeting against the plastic armrest of the chair, all the bravado from earlier seeming to have slipped away now that Stiles was actually in front of him. 

“This is Isaac’s,” Stiles said, setting the book on the table. “He doesn’t do flash, he only does custom pieces. His specialty is black and grey. He’ll do color, but he’ll bitch about it to me later.”

The Kid nodded his head, reaching out to pick up the portfolio. “No flash, black and grey only. Got it.”

“Good.” Stiles nodded in finality, and turned around and headed back inside the shop. “Leave it inside the door when you’re done,” he called over his shoulder, just before the door closed, not giving The Kid time to answer.

*

The Kid was outside for nearly an hour looking through Isaac’s portfolio before he set it back inside the shop much like last time, not saying anything to Stiles before he left. Stiles watched as he walked by the window, but The Kid didn’t look in the window again. 

Stiles didn’t know why that bothered him so much. 

“So, what was that all about?” Isaac asked as he went about wrapping the client’s finished piece --a rather large, intricate reptilian creature spiraling down his arm-- checking to make sure it was adequately covered. 

“What was what about?” Stiles didn’t look up from his sketchbook. 

Isaac slowly raised an eyebrow, his eyes not leaving his client’s skin. “ _That _.”__

Stiles shrugged. “He’s a minor. Shop is eighteen and over.”

Isaac huffed a laugh. “Only when the shop is actually open.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Stiles replied with a deadpan stare, “I’ll wait until after hours to invite the minor into the shop. I’m sure his parents would much prefer that.”

Isaac led his customer to the front counter so he could pay, making sure to remind him about the aftercare instructions. He spotted the portfolio on the ground and gave Stiles a look that said _Seriously?_ , but didn’t comment any further. 

The client paid, and Isaac led him to the door with a final, “Jackson, give it a few weeks to heal and then I’ll go back and do final touch ups,” and locked the door behind him.

Isaac bent down to snatch up the portfolio from the ground, and headed over to the desk where Stiles was working. He flipped a few pages, looking at the photos of his own work, before he shut the book with a loud snap. 

His eyes were sharp and probing, evaluating Stiles while he absently juggled the portfolio from one hand to the other. Isaac’s scrutiny was something Stiles hated. Mostly because he was scarily accurate in his conclusions. 

After several tense moments, Stiles was put out of his misery when Isaac’s eyes lit up, looking like he’d cracked some sort of code.

“You have a crush on the schoolboy!” Isaac blurted, grinning smugly.

“Excuse me?” Stiles asked, his eyebrows raising high, clearly taken aback by the comment. He closed his sketchbook and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair. _This should be rich._

“And what makes you say that?” 

Isaac set the sketchbook down on the counter with flourish, before dramatically raising his hand counting off dramatically on his finger. 

“Number one: “You made him leave the shop.”

Stiles shrugged. “He’s underage. He can’t be in here.”

Undeterred, Isaac raised a second finger.

“You’ve also never been _that_ strict with people who are just looking at portfolios. You may be a sheriff's kid, but you’re the biggest rule breaker I know.”

Isaac did have a point there. 

“Actually,” Isaac said, as though coming to the conclusion at that exact moment, “Aside from polite greetings and handling business, you try to interact with clients as little as possible. So the whole...” Isaac made a vague gesture with his free hand, “Phone call-window-portfolio thingy is completely out of character for you. Which means, there’s another reason why the kid’s on your radar.”

“On my radar?” Stiles sputtered pathetically, for lack of a better argument. Isaac saw straight through his weak defense and his smirk grew larger.

“That kid looked about as nefarious as Steve Rogers, so there’s no way you pegged him as an actual troublemaker,” Isaac raised a third finger, “So the whole ‘he could have been a threat’ argument doesn’t hold up.”

“Get to the point, Sherlock,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “And seriously, what even is this bit with the fingers? Have you been watching those corny court TV dramas again?” 

“He is quite attractive,” Isaac said in a sing-songy voice, glancing back over his shoulder to where The Kid had been sitting.

“So he’s attractive!” Stiles blurted, his arms flailing. “So are lots of people, that doesn’t mean I want to sleep with all of them!”

“True.” Isaac replied, walking closer to Stiles. He raised another finger, “Number four!”

“Here we go…”

“Mischief Inc. has an official website, a facebook page and an instagram, but he came back to the shop to look at portfolios. Which means you didn’t tell him to check out any of our social media.”

“It didn’t cross my mind,” Stiles crossed his arms again. He absently began bouncing his knee up and down. 

“You own this shop and you’re a master of PR. You say that shit hundreds of times a day and you somehow _forgot_ to mention it to the kid?” he looked at Stiles in disbelief.

And... okay, yeah. Isaac had him there. 

Stiles was great when it came to promoting the shop. He never let an opportunity pass him by to spread the word about the artists he employed, the standards that the shop upheld, or the merch that he poured his heart and soul into designing.

Stiles rarely _forgot_ to mention the shop if an opportunity presented itself. 

“Whose book did he look at?”

“Lydia’s the first time,” Stiles answered through gritted teeth. “This time it was yours.”

Isaac’s eyebrows jumped up to his hairline in surprise. “He’s been here before?”

There wasn’t anything he could have said that would have helped him out of the hole he’d dug for himself in this argument, so Stiles stayed quiet. Secretly, he vowed to call DirectTV and cancel the court channel. 

“Why didn’t you give him yours?” 

Stiles shrugged. With running the shop, Stiles was usually working on other things, but he did work on clients when he could find the time and did indeed have a portfolio in the shop.

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit. If he sees something he likes out of your book and wants to comission something, you don’t want to be stuck with him,” he paused for dramatic effect, “because, you want to have a crush on him.”

“Isaac, he’s a minor.”

“Which is why you feel guilty about wanting to sleep with him. So you don’t tell him about our social media because you still want to check him out when he comes by, but you’re hoping he’ll pick another artist so you won’t have to actually get close to him.”

_Would it kill Isaac to at least try to hide some of this smugness?_

“You’re ridiculous.”

Isaac’s grin slid up his face. He stared at Stiles for just a little too long, his eyes appraising once more. Then, all at once, he dropped all pretense of smugness, obnoxious grin and all. 

“Okay,” he said, in a suspiciously casual tone, as he sauntered away from the counter and back toward his station.

“That’s it?” Stiles raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

Once Isaac got something into his head, he could be pretty relentless. Stiles was skeptical that that he was actually being let off the hook so easily.

“That’s it,” Isaac called over his shoulder, grabbing the disinfectant spray and paper towels, and wiping down his station. He didn’t say a word, but his smug smirk spoke volumes

*

A month went by and Stiles hadn’t seen the kid, which annoyed him.

What annoyed him even more was the fact that he’d noticed exactly how much time had passed and how disappointed he felt at The Kid’s absence.

“Damnit, Isaac,” he muttered under his breath.

*

 

Stiles was in the middle of colorwork on the giant chimera on Theo’s back, when the shop phone rang loudly. Isaac was sitting at the station next to him scrolling through the satellite radio channels looking for something to listen to.

“Liam!” Stiles yelled.

“On it!” he called, jogging over from the counter containing body jewelry, where he’d been restocking. 

“Mischief Inc.,” Liam answered. There was a pause, and then, “The owner?.......Oh yeah, that’s Stiles…..Yeah, he’s here, but he’s working on someone right now…..If you leave your info I can have him get back to you.”

“Who is it?” Stiles called impatiently, looking over his shoulder at the counter.

“Okay, take care!” Liam said, hanging up the phone.

“Liam,” Stiles barked, “Who was it?”

“Didn’t say!” Liam called back.

Stiles’ head whipped toward the front of the store, to the front window, and he could have sworn he caught the edge of a navy blue blazer just as it passed by the window.

He sighed, biting his lip, and turned around to get back to work. When he looked back, Isaac was staring at him, grinning mischievously.

“Shut up,” Stiles snapped.

“I didn’t say anything.” 

As he spoke, he happened to land on a station which was playing a Billy Idol song, and _“Rock the Cradle of Love_ ” started playing through the speakers.

“I hate you,” Stiles muttered.

Isaac just laughed and turned the volume up.

*

Isaac had Friday nights off. So come sun down, it was just Stiles, Scott, Lydia, and Theo working the shop. Theo and Lydia were working on clients and Scott had an appointment coming in soon, so Stiles was the one who could leave to pick up their dinner orders. 

Scott was obsessed with a trendy novelty-themed bistro across town called _Hale’s Kitchen_ , and he called in an order for everyone, including two clients getting work done. 

Despite having been there for years, Stiles had never actually stepped foot in the New York themed restaurant, but he knew exactly where it was. He grabbed money from everyone before he swiped Scott’s car keys off the table, and headed out to pick up the food. 

Stiles expected the place to be somewhat crowded. It was Friday evening, after all. But he wasn’t prepared for how packed Hale’s Kitchen actually was. He ended up having to park two blocks away and walk back to the small restaurant. 

Inside, Stiles wove through the people waiting to be seated, and leaned in toward the hostess. 

“I’m here to pick up an order that was called in?” he said, pulling out his phone to pull out the confirmation number Scott had screenshotted and sent him. “For Scott McCall?”

The hostess looked at the screen and nodded. He paid for the order and the hostess slid his receipt across the podium. 

“It should be ready by now. I’ll go check in the back.” She made her way down a hallway, that Stiles assumed led to the kitchen. 

While he waited on his order to be brought out, Stiles passed the time by looking at the framed photos on the wall, all of which were black and white photos of Manhattan Landmarks. Stiles made a face when he noticed the photo of Yankee stadium, shaking his head in disgust. 

“Not a Yankees fan I take it?”

He turned around expecting to see the hostess, but instead came face to face with The Kid from the shop - or, rather, the kid from _outside_ of the shop-- holding a giant bag with his takeout containers. 

He was wearing a white button down shirt and black slacks, and Stiles cursed the gods above and below, because the kid looked so hot in this that it should be illegal.

Well, technically, it was.

But the kid was wearing a name tag that said _Derek_ , so at least Stiles had a name to put to the ass.

To the face!

Stiles had a name to put to the _face_.

“I thought your name was Stiles,” Derek said, tilting his head to the side. Stiles tracked Derek’s eyes as they moved up and down his body, spending more time on the visible ink on his arms.

“It is,” Stiles shrugged. “I didn’t call in the order, one of my employees did.”

“Is that the curly blond one with the perma scowl?”

Stiles smirked, “No, that’s Isaac.”

“Is he really as intimidating as he looks?”

“No,” Stiles said, reaching for his to-go bag. “It’s worse.”

Derek huffed a laugh and handed Stiles the food. Despite the fact their transaction was technically over, Stiles couldn’t bring himself to move away from Derek. But Derek didn’t seem in a hurry to leave anyway, so Stiles counted it as a win. 

“So I, uh….I haven’t seen you at the shop in a while.” Four and a half weeks, to be exact. Not that he was counting or anything. 

“School’s been a little crazy for the past few weeks,” Derek winced, cringing slightly. “The Math Olympics are coming up, so my team’s been practicing a lot.”

“Oh my god, you’re a Mathlete?” Stiles grinned, his eyes twinkling. “That’s so precious.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles could see him fighting a smile. 

“When is your competition?”

“The actual competition is Tomorrow and Sunday,” Derek scratched his forearm. “But we’re gonna leave tonight after I get off work. It’s in Beacon Hills, so we have a bit of a drive ahead of us.”

He wasn’t sure why, but the idea that Derek was a mathlete made him even more adorable.

“I’m sure you'll do great this weekend.”

“How do you know?” Derek laughed. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, but kept his expression playful. “Because you’re the kind of kid who’s not only in a math club, he also _studies_ for matches. You don’t strike me as the kind of person to half-ass the actual main event.”

Derek laughed, blushing a little. He shrugged a shoulder, “Yeah, well, you never know.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Stiles said, shuffling the bag of food to the other hand so he could fish Scott’s keys out of his pocket, “If you guys place, then I’ll give you half off a tattoo at the shop.”

“If we place? Oh, we’re going to place,” Derek scoffed indignantly. He raised an eyebrow, and leveled Stiles with a challenging stare. “What about if we make first?” 

Stiles’ lips quirked slightly, but he fought the smirk as best he could. Cute and competitive? Seriously! The Kid was too much to handle.

“Then I’ll pay for the whole damn thing.”

Derek’s eyes gleamed and he smiled smugly. “You’re on.”

“Hey, Derek?” The hostess looked a little overwhelmed with her hands full of menus. “We’ve got a table for twelve ready to be seated.”

“I’ll be right there,” he said, raising a hand in a placating gesture.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Stiles said, jerking his head toward the door. “Plus I’ve got to get these back before they get cold.”

Derek looked disappointed, but nodded nonetheless. “Yeah, I should probably get back to work.”

“Good luck at your match tomorrow,” Stiles said, giving him one last grin as he opened the door.  
“Kick ass, or don’t come home!”

A few of the patrons in the restaurant gave Stiles dirty looks for using foul language in public, but Derek just rolled his eyes before he turned around and followed the hostess into the dining room. 

The entire ride back to the shop, Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about the kid’s cocksure smirk and those gorgeous dimples.

(As if the kid wasn’t _already_ drop dead gorgeous, he had dimples too?)

“Fucking Isaac,” he muttered to himself.

*

On Sunday morning when Stiles got to the shop, Isaac was just walking up to the door, holding a plate of Challah French toast covered with plastic wrap.

“Looks good!” Stiles said, eyeing the plate. “For me?”

“For everyone. Allison made it.” Isaac handed the plate to Stiles while he fished for his keys.  
“It’s a part of her personal quest to learn as many of my mother’s recipes as she can before the wedding.”

Isaac opened the door and took the plate back, slapping away Stiles’ hand as he tried to lift the plastic.

“You can’t wait until we get inside?”

“But they look so good!” Stiles whined, following Isaac into the shop.

*

Mornings were usually pretty slow, but once the afternoon hit, he knew they’d get swamped. Liam was having car problems and couldn’t get a ride to work, so it was going to be just Stiles, Scott, and Isaac until Theo and Lydia came in for the evening shift. 

Stiles was up front selling body jewelry to a woman who seemed determined to hit on Stiles as much as she possibly could. From over the idle din of the crowd, Stiles heard a knock at the window. 

He looked up to see Derek standing with a blonde-ish Latina wearing dark red lipstick and a tall black boy. All three of them were wearing matching school blazers. Derek was brandishing a gigantic trophy and he grinned proudly at Stiles, holding it up so Stiles could get a clear look at it.

“First place?” Stiles mouthed. Derek nodded, grinning wider. 

“First place,” he mouthed back, his grin so wide it made his dimples pop. 

Stiles mimed tipping his hat and gave an elaborate half bow. Derek laughed, and the three of them walked off.

When he turned around, Scott was giving him a suspicious look.

“Friend of yours?” he asked, confused. 

“Stiles’ future boyfriend!” Isaac shouted from his station.

Scott’s expression shifted from befuddlement to horror. 

“He looked a little young, don’t you think?” he gasped indignantly.

Isaac just laughed. 

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles sighed.

That was exactly the problem.

*

A few days later, Stiles had just set Scott’s portfolio back on the counter right when Isaac had returned from a coffee run, his arms full with the drink carrier _and_ a giant bag of pastries that Stiles knows for a fact he didn’t order.

“Hayden was working,” Isaac shrugged, rolling his eyes. 

“So I gathered,” Stiles snorted.

(Ever since that time they'd sent Liam to get coffee at the little place down the street, the barista had taken to sending various baked goods back to the shop with whomever had made the coffee run. Stiles didn't know if they were dating and he didn't care. The only thing that mattered to him was that they were always blessed with the finest of pastries.) 

Isaac plopped the bag on the counter and immediately pulled out his soy latte, cradling it in his hands like it was a precious artifact. Stiles leaned over to look inside the bag, grabbing a giant chocolate croissant that was sitting on the top of the pile. 

“You were right,” Stiles bit into the croissant, chewing more aggressively than normal as he stared out the front window at the red plastic chair Derek had vacated only minutes before Isaac had returned. 

“I know.” Isaac took a slow sip of his drink, testing the temperature. “What specifically was I right about this time?” 

Isaac followed Stiles’ gaze out the front window, and then he looked over to the portfolio counter. He huffed a laugh and took another sip of his drink, smirking victoriously. 

The thing about Isaac was that when you acknowledged he was right about something, he tactfully didn’t say anything. Instead, he emitted such a smug aura of _I told you so_ that filled the entire room. It was so stifling that you would have rather he just said the “I told you so” and got it over with. 

It irritated Stiles to no end. 

“I don’t know what Allison sees in you,” Stiles grumbled petulantly. 

“I’m a good listener and I have a big dick,” Isaac quirked an eyebrow.

“Ew,” Stiles made a face, “You’re filthy.”

“She likes that about me too.” Isaac said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

Stiles choked on his croissant.

*

 

“You know, Stiles, it’s not that big a deal. A 17-year-old is not like a pre-teen or something. He’s less than a year away from being legal tender. What great amount of maturing is he really going to undergo in that amount of time? You’re delusional if you think there aren’t sexually active 17 year olds.”

“Yeah, but they’re not usually with 28-year-olds, Isaac.”

“I’m just saying, morally, there’s not that big a difference between 17 and 18.”

“But _legally_ , in the state of California, the age of consent is 18 years of age, and it is illegal for anyone to engage in sexual intercourse with a minor, someone under the age of 18, unless they are that person’s spouse.”

“That sounds really rehearsed. Did you actually look that up?”

“...No.”

“Oh my god, you totally did!”

“Go to hell.”

*

 

Stiles was just about to head out for the night. Once again he’d stayed late to work on the schedule, and it was nearing midnight. 

He finally peels himself out of the chair and decided to call it a night, when he hears the bell over the door jingle. He glances up, not completely raising his head, to see Derek peeking his head in the door.

He opened his mouth to get onto Derek about coming into the shop, but before he could say anything, he noticed that Derek had a broken nose. 

At once, something ugly reared up inside of Stiles. Something he hadn’t felt since high school, when Isaac started showing up to school more frequently with bruises hidden underneath his clothes and excuses which were getting increasingly more transparent. 

WIthout thinking, he rushed over to the door, over to Derek, his eves running over his body trying to see if there was any other injuries. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice insistent and his blood running cold. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Derek shrugged, running a hand through his hair, mussing it up a bit. He had bags under his eyes and he looked tired as hell. “I had to get out of the house, so I’ve been wandering around for a while.” he says softly. 

Stiles swallowed, trying to squelch the anger long enough to think straight, and get himself under control. God forbid he accidently scare the kid. 

“Do you need a place to stay, kid?”

His eyes searched Derek’s arms, but the sleeves of his hoodie were too long, his arms were well hidden, so he couldn’t check for anymore tell-tale signs the way he wanted to. 

“What?” Derek seemed confused for only a second, before his expression suddenly cleared and understanding dawned on him. He brought his hand up to his nose, touching his face softly. “No, no, it’s not like that.”

“It’s okay if it is. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Stiles shrugged, trying to stay casual. “My dad’s the sheriff,” Stiles adds. “Just throwing it out there. So if you need a way out or anything...”

“No, it’s not that, I’m just...stressed out I guess.” He gestures to his face, “I’m on the basketball team. I wasn’t paying attention during practice and the ball kind of caught me in the face,” he blushed.

It didn’t feel like a lie, so Stiles let the tension recede, unclenching his fists from his sides. He flexed his fingers a few times and gestured toward the door. “Why don’t we, uh…”

Derek took the hint and made his way over to the chairs, sitting down in the one he usual sat in, the one with the best view of the front counter inside the shop. Stiles sat in the other one and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his hoodie pocket. 

“So _that’s_ why you hate the Yankees!” Derek laughed. At Stiles’ confused glance, Derek pointed down to his hoodie which had the Mets logo on it.

“Guilty as charged,” Stiles grinned, winking. 

He held out the pack of cigarettes to Derek, who politely declined, and Stiles lit one for himself, blowing the smoke into the night air.

“Those are bad for you, you know,” Derek muttered.

“Really? I hadn’t heard,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “So what’s got you all stressed out enough that you’re roaming the streets late at night?”

Derek let out an exaggerated sigh, sinking further into the plastic chair. He glanced in the window once and then back over at Stiles. 

“Not really. I don’t know, I’ve just been having...romance issues, I guess you could say.”

Romance issues.

Stiles did not see that coming. He hadn’t even considered that the kid was in a relationship.

“I was in high school once, what’ so difficult about relationships?” He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle. He didn’t remember high school dating life to be particularly dramatic. Granted, he never really got much action in high school. Not unless you count…

“Class schedules not lining up. Curfew is too early? Prom date cancelled on you?” 

“No, it’s not that,” Derek looked down to his lap and started picking at his nails. “He doesn’t go to my school, so it’s not any of that.”

Stiles coughed as he inhaled the smoke that he’d meant to exhale. 

“ _He?_ ”

“I mean--” Derek immediately flushed, his body tensing up a little bit. He eyed Stiles skeptically out of the corner of his eye seeming suddenly defensive. 

Stiles realized the kid was freaked out about possibly outing himself, so he held his hands up in a placating gesture. 

“Easy kid, I’m not gonna judge. I’m gay.”

Kira had actually been pestering Stiles to get one of those Safe Space stickers to put in the window. It was on his to-do list, he’d just been busy. 

“Cool,” Derek relaxed a bit, nodding his head. “I’m….not exactly sure what I am,” he said after a while.

“You don’t have to put a label on it just yet,” Stiles exhaled a plume of smoke into the night sky, “There’s no rush.”

“I guess,” Derek frowned. “He’s just been on my mind a lot, and I can’t seem to stop thinking about him. It’s kinda complicated.”

Stiles hummed noncommittally as he took another drag. 

The two sat in silence for several moments, just enjoying each other's company. Normally, Small talk with strangers wasn’t something Stiles excelled at, but he hated prolonged silences even more. But this, sharing space with Derek on a quiet evening, was anything but uncomfortable. Their conversation didn’t feel forced and their silence didn’t feel pressured. It was just...pleasant. 

Derek didn’t seem to mind it either, so Stiles didn’t immediately push to continue the conversation. But as the moments passed he could see Derek’s tense posture slipping away as he allowed himself to get comfortable. So Stiles allowed himself to enjoy the balmy California evening, and revelled in the soothing sounds of the waves crashing against the shore and the sound of music coming from the pier.

“So this mystery guy is giving you problems?” he finally asked, minutes later, as he stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the barrel. 

“Well, it’s kind of complicated because he has all these rules about us seeing each other.”

“Is he in the closet still?”

“No. I just found out… _recently_ that that’s not it.”

“So what are the rules then?” Stiles doesn’t get it. “Is he seeing someone else?”

Derek furrowed his brows, glaring at the comment, “I hadn’t considered that.” He started picking at his nails again, glaring down into his lap. “I hope not. I really like him,” he murmured, seemingly more to himself than to Stiles. “He’s a lot older than me. So he’s just not that into me, I don’t think.”

At that, Stiles immediately felt jealous and guilty. 

Jealous because if Derek was into older guys, which he obviously was, Stiles wanted to be that older guy. But then he felt even more guilty because of how much this crush seemed to be turning into something more than just a crush.

“Maybe it’s for the best, then,” Stiles sighed. “If he’s too old to bring home and show off to your folks, then you probably shouldn’t be seeing him.”

“I, mean, he’s not _that_ old,” Derek sighed. “He’s like mid-twenties, I think?”

“You think?” Stiles raised an eyebrow, “You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t know,” Derek scowled. “We don’t really get to talk as much as I’d like.”

Stiles had never been jealous of an imaginary person before. Apparently hearing about Derek’s crush had made him sink to a new low.

“Well, as a guy in his mid-twenties myself, I say just give it a bit of time. Get to know him better, figure out if he’s really worth your effort and energy first. Maybe he’s trying to get used to the idea of dating someone your age.”

“Someone ‘my age’?” Derek scoffed. “I’m seventeen!”

“Seventeen going on thirty, apparently,” Stiles snarked. “Trust me, kid. Give it time. It’ll all work itself out. What’s meant to be will be. And if not then there are plenty of fish in the sea, and all that bullshit.”

“I appreciate the sage advice,” Derek snorted.

“Cliches are cliches for a reason,” Stiles grinned. He stood up from his chair and stretched, “I’ve got to head back to my place. I’m wiped.”

Derek stood up from his chair as well, and his eyes dipped down to Stiles waist where his hoodie had ridden up, exposing the skin of his lower abdomen.

“Do you need a ride home or anything?” Stiles asked, tugging his hoodie down one-handed.

“Huh?” Derek looked up from Stiles’ stomach and then shook his head, “No, I’m good. My car is just up the road.” 

“Be careful walking around.”

“I will,” Derek rolled his eyes. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet a few times, looking down at the ground, before he looked back up at Stiles. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “For listening to me. And for the offer.”

“What offer?”

“Earlier,” Derek’s lips curled into a soft smile, “For the place to stay.”

“No problem,” Stiles rasped out, a little thrown off by Derek’s warmth. Being the center of Derek’s attention was a little overwhelming, and Stiles felt like he was helpless against it. “The offer still stands, if you ever need it. You’ve always got a place here.”

“Even though I’m under 18?” Derek narrowed his eyes in faux scrutiny, but smiling playfully nonetheless. 

“I can make an exception when situationally appropriate,” Stiles just rolled his eyes. He made a shoo-ing gesture with his hands, “Now go on, get out of here! It’s past your bedtime!”

Derek laughed as he walked up the street toward his car. 

Stiles waited out front of the shop watching him as he walked away, making sure he made the journey okay. 

* 

That night, Stiles had a dream about Matt. 

After he finally wrenched himself out of the dream and into consciousness, he barely made it down the hall to the bathroom before he unloaded the contents of his stomach into the toilet. 

*

“It’s a bad idea, Isaac.”

“Stiles, people fall for people who are ‘bad ideas’ all the time.”

“Aggressively lusting after someone around the corner from legal is still predatory and disgusting,” Stiles snapped.

Isaac was quiet for several beats before he put his pencil down on the drawing table, and turned the stool so he could face Stiles.

“Hey,” he said, trying to get Stiles attention. 

Stiles didn’t budge, glaring at the image of he’d been drawing on the paper, clutching the pencil far too tight.

“Hey,” Isaac repeated with more force, pulling the pencil out of Stiles’s hand and demanding his attention.

Stiles finally looked up at him. 

“You’re not a predator,” Isaac said forcefully, he’s eyes locking with Stiles’, making sure he had his undivided attention. 

Stiles sighed and dropped his head, feeling the energy drain out of him all at once. “He’s just so much younger than me, and I know it was kind of a crush at first, but it’s gotten so much stronger, and-”

“Stiles,” Isaac said determined, cutting him off before he could go on. “There’s nothing predatory about being attracted to men, okay? You’re not doing anything wrong. There’s nothing disgusting about that.”

Stiles sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”

“Do you?” Isaac challenged. 

Stiles looked away and tapped his foot against the footrest, not immediately replying to Isaac’s question. He could still feel Isaac’s gaze boring into the side of his face.

For some reason, Stiles had a vague sense of deja vu of that night many years before, once the trial was over and Isaac was officially family, when the two would kill time sitting on the roof. Stiles would keep the police scanner on softly in the background so he could keep tabs on his dad, and the two would just eat snack and share secrets, cementing their new brotherhood. It was one of those nights that Stiles had said the words out loud for the very first time, after years of coming to terms with it privately. 

When Stiles finally did speak, his voice was soft and tentative, sounding much more vulnerable than he usually allowed himself to be in front of people, even Isaac. And much like that night all those years ago, Isaac listened without judgement and talked Stiles out of the self-depreciating hole he’d dug himself into.

“He’s so young, though.” He chewed his lip, still not looking at Isaac.

“Yeah, he is,” Isaac shrugged, his voice gentler. “But he’s right around the corner from legal, and he’s obviously interested in you too. It’s not about sex. You’re not like…” Isaac trailed off. 

Stiles didn’t need him to finish the sentence. He knew exactly what Isaac was going to say. 

“This is different because you guys have a thing. “You’re interested in who he _is_. You’re not after anything.” Isaac swiveled in his chair and looked at Stiles. “You guys have been kind of building something. So, whatever this is, it’s mutual.” Isaac tapped the pencil on the counter a few beats before he spoke again. “He’s not young, he’s just young _er_.” 

“That doesn’t make it any less….weird.” Stiles set his pencil, giving up on getting anything done.

“It’s inconvenient and only you could find yourself in this kind of snafu,” he smirked. Stiles rolled his eyes. “But tracking down young guys isn’t something you _do_ , Stiles. This isn’t a pattern of behavior for you. You’re not a predator. You’re not like….You’re not Matt.”

Stiles didn’t respond, instead he just nodded his head once.

Stiles nodded slowly, sighing, and then finally replied, “Thanks, man.” 

Isaac let go of Stiles forearm and went back to his drawing.

“Okay, seriously, we’ve gotta figure out when this kid’s birthday is,” Isaac said, sighing forcefully and taking a sip of his beer, “Because I can’t take all this angsty bullshit anymore.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes, but bumped his shoulder against Isaac’s affectionately.

Even if The Kid didn’t have any firm boundaries regarding his age, Stiles did. Derek being anything but legal was an automatic no for him. 

Stiles needed Derek to be legal.

*

Stiles had been off all day, his conversation with Isaac still ringing in his head. And as luck would have it, that would be the day that everything went to hell in a handbasket. 

Stiles had just finished setting up an appointment with a client when he spotted Derek through the shop window. He was standing outside and talking to Isaac. 

_What the hell?_

Stiles froze, watching helplessly as two people from two separate parts of his life were crashing together. 

He didn’t know what they were saying, but Isaac’s posture was closed off and a little standoffish, while Derek looked annoyed but defeated. 

Though Derek and Isaac knew about each other, they didn’t know each other. And Stiles liked that little bit of separation that they had. It’s almost like the gap in their meeting made it seem like this whole crush thing wasn’t really a big deal. He liked having them in two different portions of his life. 

But now they had clashed, and the two parts of his life that he didn’t necessarily plan on bringing together were together, and there was nothing he could do about it. Stiles felt out of control of the situation.

Stiles thought of all of the things he’d told Isaac the other night. He thought about all the mistakes he’d made in the past that Isaac had been privvy to. Stiles was sensitive to all the horrible mistakes he’d made and hated that Isaac had been a witness to them. But that didn’t mean that Isaac got to just go out there and 

Was Isaac telling Derek the way Stiles felt about him?

Isaac would never. And Stiles knew that.

_But why the hell else would they be talking?_

“Stiles?” 

The private feelings of shame that Stiles had been battling with for the past few weeks began to resurface. And even at Stiles most self-deprecating, he was able to keep them at bay. But seeing Isaac and Derek together was throwing Stiles off, and he couldn’t stop the wave of thoughts and feelings he’d been trying to ignore burst forth and control him. 

“Stiles!” 

Stiles tore his eyes away from the window. Lydia was standing beside him, looking at him with concern written all over her face. 

“Are you okay?” Her hand was resting on his forearm, and he looked down at where their skin connected.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered. But even though his attention had been brought back to the present, Stiles was far from okay. His emotions were all off kilter, and the discomfort at feeling vulnerable manifested itself as anger. 

The bell over the shop door jingled and Isaac walked back inside, looking calm as all get out. 

_What did you tell him about me_

Over Isaac’s shoulder, Stiles could see Derek walking briskly away from the shop, shoulders slumped and not even stopping to look back at the shop. 

_Derek didn’t even stay and look at a portfolio today._

If it were any other situation, Stiles would have been able to grab ahold of his temper before it ripped out from him. But the sharpness of his vulnerability mixed with his own self-loathing and private guilt, and the mixture was a deadly combination that was so far out of Stiles’ own control. 

“What the fuck were you doing, Isaac?” Stiles snapped, his voice sharp and his eyes wild. 

Isaac stopped in front of the counter, halting immediately at Stiles’ raised voice. Stiles could see the confusion on his face for a brief moment, before his own anger kicked in.

Beside him, Lydia gasped and gripped his arm a little harder, whisper-yelling “Stiles!”

“Excuse me?” Isaac cocked his head to the side, looking at Stiles as if he’d sprouted a second head. He squared his shoulders slightly and his fists clenched down by his waist, dormant instincts coming back to life. 

“What the fuck was that out there?” Stiles pointed to the window. “I totally saw you two!”

“We were just having a conversation,” Isaac walked up to Stiles, keeping his movements slow and the tone of his voice low and even. 

Though it would have been completely useless, seeing as how Stiles _saw_ them together, the fact that Isaac didn’t even try to hide it, didn’t even seem to have remorse about it, made Stiles even angrier. 

“Yeah? Well cut that shit out!” Stiles didn’t mean to shout, but he couldn’t control himself at the moment. He pushed into Isaac’s space, holding up an accusing finger in his face. Isaac’s shoulders tensed, as if he was waiting for a punch. Lydia reached out and grabbed Stiles’ arm, pulling him back as much as she could, moving to stand in between the two men. 

“It’s none of your _fucking_ business, so stay out of it,” Stiles yelled over Lydia’s head. 

“Dude!” came Scott’s voice from somewhere in the shop. 

Isaac took a step back, removing himself from the situation, but Stiles could see the hurt behind his eyes. And somewhere behind all the anger, Stiles could already feel how badly he fucked up. 

“Fine,” Isaac’s voice rang out coldly. 

Isaac eyed Stiles for only a moment longer before he walked away, passing his station and the wide eyed stares of their coworkers, and toward the employee exit at the back of the store.  
The door slammed loudly, signalling his exit, and Lydia whirled around on Stiles. 

“What the hell, Stiles?” Lydia asked, pushing against Stiles’ chest and causing him to take a few steps back. “What is wrong with you?”

Stiles wiped a hand down his face. Now that the tension was beginning to drain from his body, his mind replayed snippets of his exchange with Isaac, and Stiles was appalled at his behavior. 

_Shit._

“Not now, Lydia,” he said tiredly. 

“You fucked up,” she crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Don’t I fucking know it,” he muttered under his breath. 

Stiles grabbed his keys and his cigarettes from the counter and stormed out the front door of Mischief Inc., leaving Lydia, Scott and Theo staring after him. 

*

 

Stiles could remember the moment when he realized the age difference thing was gross. 

When he was younger and just started realizing he was into guys, he’d see an older man who was interested in him and it boosted his ego. It made him feel sexy and desirable. It made him feel _wanted_.

But then as he got older, and closer to the age of these men who used to check him out, he started to realize that it wasn’t normal for older men to look at teenagers that way. And all those earlier memories Stiles had of being fifteen and feeling irresistible, were viewed in a completely different context and it made him feel dirty. 

At fifteen, being hit on by an older guy made him feel powerful. 

But now, being an older guy himself, he noticed just how _young_ fifteen really was, and he knew, _he fucking knew_ , that every single one of those men who’d told him how sexy he was and offered to take him out and buy him things, weren’t sophisticated or mature. 

They were predators. 

When you’re fifteen, age gaps are no big deal. But when you’re twenty-nine, age gaps are a huge deal. They need to be. And if anyone doesn’t see them that way, then it’s a warning sign. 

But back then, Stiles didn’t know any better. He was young and shy and so socially awkward it was almost painful. So one night at a party that he shouldn’t have been at in the first place, after way too many drinks, when this guy started showing interest in Stiles, he ate that shit up. 

_(“Hi,” he smiled, pushing a beer into Stiles hands, eyes roaming all over his body. “My name’s Matt. What’s yours?”)_

At sixteen, having a thirty-one year-old boyfriend made him feel so mature. But now, being around the corner from thirty, thinking back to that first boyfriend just made him want to vomit. He was ashamed at being so naive and he was angry, at himself for not knowing better, and at the fact that there were creeps out there who looked for people like him so they could prey upon that weakness. 

Stiles didn’t ever want anyone to feel that way because of how he’d acted toward them. 

But Isaac was right. This was different. And Stiles didn’t _do_ this. 

It’s not like he was hanging out outside of schools or cruising parks or anything. This was the first time it happened, and maybe it was a bad idea, but it wasn’t insidious or predatory.

But no matter how many times he told himself that, he still couldn’t help feeling guilty anyway.

*

Derek didn’t come by the shop for a while after that. 

But what was even worse, was that Isaac and Stiles had been on rocky terms ever since their argument. No, _Stiles’_ temper tantrum. 

By the time he had regained his senses long enough to bite down and keep the hurtful words back behind his teeth, it was already too late. The damage was already done. 

They only spoke at the shop when it pertained to business, and Isaac had missed two Family Dinner nights with Dad. 

Two. 

Things were not good.

The more Stiles thought about it --and he thought about it pretty much constantly since it all went down-- Stiles couldn’t believe he’d allowed his own insecurities to bleed through.

He didn’t even know what Isaac had said. Maybe he’d told Derek everything Stiles had been feeling about him. Maybe he told Derek not to come around anymore. Maybe he warned him not to hang around a pervert like him.

But it didn’t really matter what Isaac had said. Stiles wasn’t responsible for Isaac or Derek’s behavior. He was responsible for himself and himself alone. And how he had behaved was unacceptable.

Sure, part of his reaction was attributed to the unexpected surprise of actually seeing Isaac and Derek talking, and the fact that Isaac was maybe, kind of, meddling in something that Stiles really didn’t want anyone to meddle with. 

But really, it was Stiles’ own discomfort at the way he felt about Derek and how it was secretly eating him up that he was lusting after someone so young. It reminded him of Matt. And Stiles couldn’t bear the thought that he had anything in common with that asshole. 

If you never heal from what hurt you, you’ll bleed on people who didn't cut you. 

Stiles thought he’d put all those issues to bed, but apparently he was wrong. His own demons caused him to lash out and in the process he’d hurt someone he loved. 

Stiles didn’t regret yelling. He had a tendency to be kind of a dick from time to time, and his friends knew that about him and didn’t take it too seriously. 

What Stiles regretted was yelling at Isaac. 

*

Living in an abusive household is like living in a minefield. 

There’s not really any logic to it, and you never know what you did wrong until it was too late. You never quite know what’s crossing the line, because the line always moves. Some days the line could be staying out too late. Some days it could be making too much noise as you walked. 

Isaac never told Stiles any details, and Stiles sure as shit didn’t ask. But even if Isaac had wanted to share, Stiles wasn’t sure he’d be able to stomach hearing all of it. 

A couple months after Isaac had officially moved in with Stiles and his dad, Isaac accidentally knocked over a vase, causing it to topple to the floor and shatter it into hundreds of pieces. Isaac sank to his knees immediately, eyes wide and face pale. The shards of glass pierced his hands, slicing his skin as he tried desperately to clean up the mess, sobbing out apologies so hard he was shaking. 

“I’m sorry it was an accident--”

“I didn’t mean to--”

“Please don’t hurt--”

Stiles’ dad sank down next to him and wrapped him in a hug, effectively cutting off Isaac’s rambling. Stiles was too shocked to say anything and he just stood there staring, feeling scared and so fucking angry on Isaac’s behalf. 

In the end, he cleaned up the mess himself, his own tears silently falling down his cheeks as he listened to Isaac’s muffled cries and his dad’s voice, promising Isaac he was safe now and no one would hurt him ever again. 

Stiles would rather cut off both of his arms than ever make Isaac feel like he had to walk on eggshells around him. 

He hated himself for losing his temper with Isaac.

*

The next time Isaac was working, Stiles brought in an apology cake. 

Isaac was standing behind the counter writing something in the appointment book, and Stiles sidled up beside him, sliding the cake across the glass. Isaac didn’t turn to look at Stiles, but he did look down at the cake long enough to read the “Sorry I was a Gigantic Asshole” written on top with bright pink buttercream icing. 

Isaac rolled his eyes, but Stiles could see the smirk threatening to break through, so he knew he had a chance. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Stiles said, swallowing his pride. “I projected my own insecurities onto the situation and took my anger out on you. You’re my best friend and I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

Isaac threw Stiles a look that said _You think??_ and crossed his arms over his chest. But he wasn’t walking away, so Stiles counted that as a win. 

“I fucked up, Isaac.” Stiles sighed, and turned so he could look Isaac directly in the eye. “I was wrong and I am so, so sorry for how I acted. Will you please forgive me?”

“No.” His voice was dry and dripping with sarcasm, but he bumped his shoulder into Stiles’ playfully and felt the relief rush through him when he realized Isaac was just fucking with him. 

Stiles huffed a nervous laugh and scooted closer to Isaac, melting his body into Isaac’s side and resting his head against Isaac’s shoulder. They stood there for several more moments in silence, just being near each other. Stiles could feel the tension leak out of Isaac’s body as he lowered his guard long enough to let Stiles back in. 

“You can’t fucking yell at me like that, dude,” Isaac rubbed at his eyes with his palms. He sounded exhausted in ways Stiles could never fully understand. “Nobody can. But _especially_ not you.”

Ever since his dad, Isaac had a very low tolerance for being yelled at. 

“I know. That was fucked up of me, and I regretted the moment it happened.” Stiles knew that better than anybody, and he felt even shittier each time he replayed the memory of that day in the shop. “I’m so fucking sorry. If I could go back in time and undo it, I would in a heartbeat.”

Isaac rested his head on top of Stiles’, curling a hand around to pat at Stiles’ head, albeit awkwardly, given the angle.

“Please don’t yell at me like that again,” Isaac’s voice was nearly a whisper.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Isaac’s midsection, wrapping him into a fierce hug and transmitting as much love into the gesture as he could. He hoped it was able to convey the message that he was truly sorry and he was always there and they were as good as brothers.

“I won’t, I swear,” he promised fiercely.

Isaac nodded, returning the hug, holding onto Stiles just as desperately.

“Are you coming by for dinner tomorrow?” Stiles asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer, in case Isaac wasn’t ready yet. 

“Yeah,” Isaac nodded and then cleared his throat, “Allison has been itching to try out the walnut Babka recipe.” 

“I’ll let dad know.” Stiles smiled.

The ritual between the three of them had started just after Stiles and Isaac moved out of the Stilinski house, and until their big fight Isaac had never missed a single Family Dinner night. The thought of Isaac missing a third ate away at him. 

Isaac reached down and wiped his finger through the frosting, collecting the “Gigantic Asshole” and reached up to smear it across Stiles’ cheek. 

“Jerk.”

Isaac just laughed. 

Stiles left the frosting on his face for the rest of the day. It made his skin itch like crazy, but it was worth it every time he saw the small smile Isaac wore when he thought Stiles wasn’t looking.

*

Things were a little better between them after that. Stiles knew he still had making up to do, but he knew Isaac would give him the time and the space to show his contrition. 

Not without giving him shit for it and calling him out when he was being an asshole, mind you. But that’s how the two always were. 

Stiles knew they were on their way back to where they were.

And everyone at the shop was relieved that things had finally been smoothed over. 

* 

Isaac had the next few days off for Sukkot, so the shop was running on a skeleton crew the next time Derek finally came by.

Derek walked into the shop and Stiles raised an eyebrow, watching warily as Derek confidently strolled up to the counter. 

“You know the rule,” he said sternly, pointing to the door.

Derek didn’t break his stride, and continued on until he reached the counter. He leaned against it with his hip, and grinned at Stiled. 

“The rule only applies when you’re underage.”

It took a few seconds, but the meaning finally clicked.

“You’re….?”

“As of 2:22 this morning, I am a legal adult in the state of California.” Derek grinned, pulling out his wallet and holding up a state ID card. “And a while back, some guy promised me he’d pay for me to get a tattoo.”

“He did, did he?” Stiles laughed, scratching his chest. “Well I guess it’s time he made good on that promise, huh.”

“Yup,” Derek grinned broadly. Stiles couldn’t help but notice how Derek’s eyes dropped down briefly to his lips before they shot back up to his eyes.

“Well,” Stiles coughed, feeling a little hot under the collar now that he was actually this close to the object of his affection. “Do you know what you want?” Stiles prompted.

Derek nodded and reached around to pull a piece of paper out of his pocket. He set it on the counter, spreading out the wrinkles before he slid it across to Stiles. 

“I want this,” he said, pointing at the drawing.

It was sketched out on a sheet of notebook paper, probably by Derek himself, and it looked like a series of swirls in a triangular shape. 

“Did you want it in color or black and grey?” Stiles leaned in closer, getting a closer look at the sketch. It looked vaguely familiar, but Stiles couldn’t immediately place it. Stiles would have guessed it was an ancient symbol of some sort, but he’d have to do a bit more research to be sure. 

“I kind of liked black and grey.”

“Isaac does a lot of amazing stuff with black and gray and shadows. I can check his availability, if you want.”

Derek scratched his chin, blushing slightly before he asked, “What’s your availability?” 

“I try not to book as many appointments as the others, since I own the shop. I’ve got to balance tattooing with paperwork and bills and general managing of this place.”

“I want you,” Derek said nodding. “To do my tattoo, I mean” I want you to do my tattoo,” he added on hurriedly. 

“Okay.” Stiles raised his eyebrows. “I can make time for you.”

Derek bit his lip, blushing slightly, and nodded his head. 

“Why don’t you leave this here, and I can draw up a few versions and play around with designs and see what you think.”

Derek nodded, “Sounds good.”

*

The symbol was called a Triskele and Stiles had never worked so hard on a tattoo in his entire life.

He’d drawn dozens upon dozens of the symbol, adding some variation here and there, employing different styles to switch it up a bit. Derek would be coming by something this week to look over the designs, and Stiles wanted to make sure he had something good to show him. 

Eventually, he’d narrowed it down to ten versions that he was actually proud of. The design a person chose to get tattooed revealed a lot about them, and Stiles was curious to know which one it would be that would pique Derek’s interest. 

But that wasn’t all Stiles was curious about, when it came to Derek. 

In the time that Stiles had spent working on Derek’s tattoo, he found himself wondering more and more who Derek was. He knew he liked baseball, that he had the capacity to be just as sarcastic as Stiles was, that he was a mathlete, and he worked at a bistro. 

That wasn’t enough information, though. Stiles wanted to know more 

Stiles wanted to know why Mathletes. Stiles wanted to know if Derek liked playing basketball, or if he was just doing it to appease his parents. Stiles wanted to know what he thought about, what his dreams and his plans were. Why he picked a Triskele. Why he picked Stiles. 

And for some reason, it wasn’t until Stiles really allowed himself to think about Derek, really think about him, he realized that Isaac had been right all along. 

Stiles wasn’t like Matt. 

Matt never cared about these things. Matt never wanted to learn about Stiles as a person. The only time he ever took the initiative to learn about Stiles, it was so he could get closer to him and get what he really wanted. 

Stiles was interested in Derek as a whole. And there was nothing wrong with that. Stiles wasn’t some pervert, manipulating his victim to lure him into a trap. 

Stiles was just a guy interested in another guy, who just happened to be younger. 

_Damnit, Isaac._ Stiles sighed to himself. 

*

Stiles only noticed he was obsessing because Theo started giving him shit about it. 

“Dude, why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” Stiles said as he looked back down to Theo and started up the tattoo machine again, resuming where he’d left off on Theo’s chimera. 

“The checking the door thing,” Theo twirled his hand vaguely. “Every time the bell rings your head snaps to the door.”

“I do not,” Stiles frowned. The response was weak even to his own ears. 

“Leave him alone, Theo,” Isaac said without looking up from his magazine. 

After that, he tried to be more subtle as he checked the door. 

*

The day Derek did come in, Stiles was in the middle of a session with a client. 

Derek walked in the shop and saw that Stiles was busy, and Stiles could have sworn Derek looked disappointed. “I’ll come by later,” he said, biting his lip before turning back toward the door. 

Isaac, who had been watching with a vaguely amused smile from behind the counter, finally spoke up. 

“Derek, why don’t you sit down and hang out. He’ll be done in a bit.”

Derek looked over to Isaac, noticing him for the first time, and stuttered a few times before he finally said, “Uh, sure. I guess? I mean. Yeah. Can I?”

Isaac raised an eyebrow. Stiles knew that eyebrow raise. That one meant _You’re testing my patience, but I’m being polite by not letting you know._ Stiles was well versed with that particular eyebrow raise. 

Derek spoke again, raising his hands defensively. “I’m eighteen now, so I can be in here.”

“Welcome to adulthood,” Isaac snarked. He nodded to the small sofa against the wall. “Have a seat.”

“Yeah, okay. Yes.” Derek said, clearly flustered about having to interact with Isaac. 

Forty-five minutes later, Stiles was wrapping up the fresh ink, handing the client the aftercare sheet, and walking them to the front. 

Derek stood up from the sofa, smoothing down front of his jeans and smiling brightly when Stiles came over.

“I’m glad you stopped by,” Stiles had the urge to reach out and ruffle Derek’s hair. _Did he use mousse? Why was it so...styled?_

“Yeah?” Derek grinned, his dimples popping faintly underneath the stubble. 

“Yeah, I have some designs to show you and I wanted to get your feedback.”

“Designs?” Derek looked confused for only a second. “Right, designs. For my tattoo.” He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. 

“Oh boy,” Isaac droned from the side. 

“Why don’t we go back to my station and we can look through them?” Stiles said, hoping Derek hadn’t heard. 

That bright smile showed up again, and Derek nodded. “That’d be great.”

Stiles gestured ahead of himself, and Derek walked past him heading toward Stiles' station. 

“This is almost painful to watch. He’s got it so bad for you,” Isaac chuckled. 

“Then why don’t you take a walk, huh? Go get dinner or something?” Stiles reached into the register and grabbed a twenty dollar bill and handed it to Isaac.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Isaac said, taking the twenty from Stiles’ hand and grabbing his coffee. “Back in a bit!” he called out loudly, more for Derek’s benefit than Stiles’.

Scott was in the back room sketching, so it was just Stiles and Derek on the floor. 

Stiles pulled out a rolling stool for Derek, the one he usually used for tattooing, and grabbed the sketchbook from the shelf. 

“So, I wasn’t sure what kind of vibe you were going for, and I went a bit wild.” He opened up the sketch book, and turned to the page that had his final selections. “So these are the ones I liked best, but it’s your tattoo, so if you see anything you like better, let me know.”

Derek studied the designs closely, looking at each one for several minutes before flipping the page. Stiles stood there, leaning against the wall and tapping his foot aimlessly, desperately awaiting Derek’s decision. Stiles hadn’t felt this under scruitany since Deaton. And he just wanted Derek to make a choice already and put him out of his misery. 

In the background the phone rang, pulling Stiles out of his misery. 

“Hang on,” he said, heading around Derek, “I gotta grab that.”

“No worries!” Derek called after him. 

Stiles took the call, a client who needed to reschedule an appointment, which only took a few minutes. When Stiles made it back to his station, Derek was flipping away from a page frantically, his cheeks and the tip of his ears red. 

“You alright?” Stiles asked, curious.

“Yeah!” Derek said, a little too loud. He cleared his throat and took a breath to compose himself. “Yes, I mean.”

He turned to the front of the sketchbook and pointed to two different Triskele designs Stiles had come up with. 

“I couldn’t decide between these two,” Derek swiveled the sketchbook around so Stiles could see. 

Stiles craned his neck to get a better look, kneeling down closer to Derek. With this new stance, Stiles was mere inches away from the teen, and if he were to turn his head ever so slightly, his lips would make contact with that scruffy jaw. The stubbled jaw that he desperately wanted to feel running--

“These two, huh?” Stiles swallowed thickly, trying to get a hold on his thoughts. “I can blend the two styles together? Maybe combine the elements that you like into one?”

He turned to look at Derek just as Derek turned to look at him. 

“That would be awesome,” Derek grinned. This close, Stiles could see the faint freckles on Derek’s cheeks and really see the vibrant definition on hsi green eyes. 

“And then you could come by again?” Stiles heard himself say, “And we could set up an appointment?”

“I trust you,” Derek breathed softly, his eyes flickering down to Stiles’ lips again. “I mean, you can do whatever. I’m sure I’m gonna like it.”

Stiles bit back a groan, biting his lower lip. Derek had no idea about all the things Stiles would have done to him if given the chance. Stiles leaned in infinitesimally, gently testing the waters. Much to his delight, Derek echoed the movement, leaning in just a little closer, his tongue coming out to lick at his lips.

The bell over the shop door rang as Isaac walked in, and Stiles jolted back suddenly, he and Derek moving away from each other and staring up to the front of the shop guiltily. While Isaac wasn’t looking at the two of them, Stiles could have sworn he was hiding a smile.

“Motherfucker,” Stiles breathed out silently, running a hand through his hair.

“So,” Derek said, clearing his throat and looking back down to the sketchbook. “Um, I could come by next week then?”

“Yeah, next week’s good,” Stiles said, switching back to business, and taking the sketchbook from Derek, his fingers brushing gently against the teen’s. Stiles stood up, leaving room for Derek to stand.

“Cool,” Derek rose from the stool, and from the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Derek try to subtly adjust himself. 

The last thing Stiles needed right now was the knowledge that he’d made Derek hard.

Stiles plucked out his appointment book and flipped through it. The time he did allot for tattoos was booked solid for the next several weeks. He didn’t have anything open for Derek for the next month. There was always a chance he’d get a cancellation, but...

“Looks like you’re pretty in demand,” Derek commented, his eyes roaming the pages of Stiles appointment book. 

“I’ll tell you what,” Stiles closed the book and slipped it back in the holder. “What you want will only take an hour and a half, two hours tops. Why don’t you come in one night after hours and I’ll crank it out then?”

Derek’s eyes lit up and he grinned broadly, “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to impose. I can wait until you’re free.”

“Perks of knowing a tattoo artist, kid,” Stiles smiled. “You get access other people don’t.”

Derek laughed. “I mean, that sounds great. As long as you’re sure.”

Behind them, Isaac snorted. 

“I don’t mind at all.” Stiles grabbed a pen and ripped a sheet out of his sketchbook. “What night works best for you? Fridays and Saturdays are a little busy up here, so I’ll be pretty exhausted after…”

“I can do Thursday, then. If that works for you.” 

Thursday was actually Stiles’ least busy day for inking. The only think he really had was paying bills, writing the schedule and updating social media while he worked the front. 

“Thursday’s great.” Stiles jotted the date and time down on the slip of paper. “We close at 10 p.m., so why don’t you stop by at about 9:45 or so--” 

He stopped himself and looked over to Derek suddenly unsure. _Thursday was a school night._

“Do you have a curfew I need to be aware of?” 

“Oh.” Derek’s smile slipped, “Usually it’s 10:30, but I’m sure I could talk my parents into extending it until midnight or something.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure they won’t mind making an exception so you can get a tattoo,” Stiles smirked. 

For a second, Stiles worried his sarcasm might be off-putting to Derek. But his worries were in vain, because Derek just laughed at his comment, hardly paying it any mind. 

“I’ll just say I’m at Boyd’s or something,” he shrugged, taking the situation in stride. “It’s senior year, so they’ve been a bit more laid back as long as I keep my grades up.”

Up front, Isaac choked on his sandwich.

 _Serves you right, asshole._ Stiles thought at him.

“Okay. Thursday at 9:45. I’ll make sure you’re out of here and back home before midnight, Cinderella.”

Derek rolled his eyes, taking the slip of paper from Stiles and heading toward the front of the shop. “What does that make you, my fairy godmother?” 

Stiles laughed and followed behind Derek.

“Bibbity bobbity boo,” he deadpanned. 

“See you Thursday, then,” Derek waved, smiling at Stiles one last time before he slipped out the door. 

As soon as he was gone from sight, Stiles slumped down, burying his face in his hands. 

“I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” Isaac asked saccharinely. 

“I hate you.”

“I honestly didn’t think he’d still be here.” Isaac slid over a bag from the sandwich place up the street. “Good thing I came back when I did. I might have found you two humping on right out in the open.”

“‘Humping?’ Dude!” Stiles laughed, unwrapping the sandwich. 

“Looks like you two were preeeetty close,” Isaac teased. “How are your balls?”

“Bluer than a Mets jersey,” Stiles grumbled, before tearing into his sandwich 

 

Later that night when he was cleaning up his station, he flipped to the last page of his sketchbook, and his blood froze when he saw the pencil sketch of Derek he’d done months before. 

The same page he caught Derek looking at earlier. 

“Oh hell,” he groaned.

*

Allison invited Stiles and his dad to her mikveh. Together they stood with Isaac on the shore, Isaac watching lovingly while Allison stood out in the water with the Rabbi.

“Will you be my best man?” Isaac's voice was so quiet that Stiles was surprised he even heard it over the sound of the waves and the seagulls. 

He scoffed and elbowed Isaac in the side. “I love how you asked me, like I hadn’t _already_ decided I was going to be your best man.”

“Yeah, well,” Isaac smiled, “It was a tie between you and Dad, but I figured you wouldn’t cry as much.”

Stiles nearly cackled, “Dude, he’s going to be such a wreck on the big day.”

“You two do know that I can hear you, right?” John grumbled, blotting his eyes with a tissue. 

*

 

When Thursday night rolled around, Stiles made sure the shop was empty before flipping the “Closed” sign on the front door, and he started preparing his station for Derek’s appointment. 

They had been emailing back and forth for the past few days, Stiles sending Derek drafts of his designs, and Derek critiquing each one. 

Stiles was printing the temporaries when he heard a soft knock at the glass of the door. 

Derek stood outside, in jeans and a henley, looking slightly nervous, but smiling nonetheless. He waved, and Stiles swore he could feel his heart skip a beat. Derek moved his weight between one foot and the other, and while Stiles knew it was probably because he was about to get his first tattoo, a small part of him was hoping some of it was because Derek was just as nervous to be around Stiles as Stiles was to be around Derek. 

He unlatched the door and opened it wide, grinning at Derek. “You ready, big guy?” 

Derek snorted at the nickname, shaking his head and hiding a smile. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Stiles locked the door behind Derek, and led him back to his station. He handed Derek a clipboard with forms on it he’d need to fill out, and pulled out a stool for him to sit down while he went over them. 

“I gotta finish printing out the temps, and then I’ll be right back over. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable right here,” he said, patting the chair where he was going to have Derek sit. 

He went into the back and collected the temporaries, and took a moment to compose himself. 

_Breathe, Stilinski._

“So where were we thinking?” Stiles said as he walked back into the room.

“My back,” he answered, turning around in the chair to face Stiles. “Between my shoulder blades.”

“Got it,” Stiles nodded. 

_Great._ Stiles groaned internally. _The Kid was going to be shirtless._

Stiles swallowed thickly, busying himself with the design in his hands. “Go ahead and take your shirt off.”

He heard the rustling of Derek removing his shirt. _Just act normal,_

“Finished,” Derek said behind him. 

When Stiles turned around, his mouth practically went dry at the sight before him. 

Derek stood there completely shirtless, his jeans slung low on his hips and the elastic band of his briefs sticking out over the top. Derek’s torso was completely chiseled and muscular. 

“Wow,” Stiles said, blinking back his shock. “You’re very...you work out a lot.”

Derek shrugged, a little self-consciously, and grinned “I’m involved in a lot of sports at school, so I spend a lot of time training.”

For lack of anything to say (that wasn’t cheesy pick up lines or blatant sexual propositions), Stiles just nodded and cleared his throat again. 

“Okay, well, uh, let’s get started then,” he croaked.

Stiles walked Derek over to the full length mirror at the end of the workstation. Derek showed Stiles as best he could where he wanted the temp, and Stiles placed it on his skin, showing him in a mirror where it was. 

“A little higher, I think?” Derek winced, checking in the small hand mirror Stiles gave him, as well as glancing back in the mirror. 

Stiles lifted the paper and reapplied the temporary a little higher. 

“Like this?”

“Yeah, perfect,” Derek grinned. 

“Alright, man, go ahead and have a seat and we’ll get started.”

Stiles busied himself with preparing his work station, getting out all the ink he’d planned to use, setting up the tattoo machine and bringing his sketch over, to keep as a backup reference. 

Stiles pulled out the ergonomic chair, which looked like a normal chair, but allowed the inhabitant to face the reverse direction. Derek sat down on a chair and shuffled around until he was comfortable. 

“You good?” Stiles asked, pulling his stool up behind the chair, getting close enough so he had a good angle to work on Derek’s back. 

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Stiles slipped on his black nitrile gloves and picked up the machine, revving it up a few times to make sure it was working properly. 

“Last chance to back out,” he peered around to look at Derek. He looked nervous, but determine. 

“Not backing out,” he smiled, turning his head to look back to Stiles. 

“Alright, man,” he dipped his pen in the ink, and brought it down to Derek’s skin. He winked at Derek, raising his eyebrows playfully. “Let’s go.”

*

As usual, Stiles started with the outline of the piece before working his way in with the more intricate designs. Each time he’d pull the gun away to dip it back into the pot of ink, he’d chance a glance up to Derek to see how he was taking it. 

He seemed to flinch every now and then, but other than that seemed to be handling it well enough. Derek, who had been mostly silent since he started. 

“You good?”

“I’m good,” Derek replied, a little tense, but not abnormal to the situation. 

“So tell me about yourself,” Derek said, clearing his throat. 

“Me?” Stiles snorted. He pulled the machine back, wiping away the blood and ink from Derek’s skin, before he moved in again. “Not much to tell. I’m not that interesting.”

“Humor me?” Derek grinned. “Help me take my mind off the pain?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. The kid hardly seemed like he was in pain, but what the hell. 

“What do you want to know?”

“Why tattooing? When’d you start?”

“Well I’d always liked drawing. Back in school during class I’d make these intricate designs and my friends thought they looked cool. Eventually I learned how to do shitty poke and stick tattoos, then later I apprenticed with this Ex-Navy Vet.” Stiles leaned back in his chair and stretched his arm a bit. 

“His name was Deaton but everyone called him The Doctor. He took a chance on me when everyone just saw some teenage punk. Deaton took me under his wing and taught me everything I needed to know. Took me to some conventions. Shit, he even let me do my first tattoo on him.”

Derek’s arm flexed, and he squirmed a bit in his seat. “I’m good, I just had an itch,” he murmured. “Keep going.”

“Deaton said if I couldn’t do it properly on him, then he’d start all my training over and make me do it all again until I got it right.”

“I bet that was nerve wracking.”

“I was scared shitless, man” Stiles laughed. “I don’t think I took a proper breath until after it was finished.”

“What was it?” Derek winced as Stiles started the first bit of shading, and shifted in his seat again. 

“You good?” Stiles lifted the gun and Derek rotated his shoulder blades a bit, moving around in the seat before he settled down again. “We can take a break for a bit.”

“I’m good. Keep going.”

Stiles eyed Derek for a bit, making sure. If Derek seemed woozy, then he’d lie and say he needed a smoke break and make Derek eat a protein bar. The last thing Stiles wanted was Derek passing out in the middle of the shop.

Derek turned around and looked back to Stiles, “It’s just the sitting in one place. I’m fine, I promise.”

Stiles looked at him, his eyes probing intently, before he relented. He gestured for Derek to turn around and Derek grinned victoriously. 

_Little shit._ Stiles smiled to himself. 

Stiles resumed tattooing, leaning back over Derek’s body. “It was an Oni. It’s a type of demon in Japanese folklore.”

“Did you choose the design, or did he?”

“He did. After all, it’d be on him forever, so he wanted something he could stand to look at for the rest of his life. But he tried to pick something I could actually _do_ for my first time. I passed with flying colors, and slowly but surely, Deaton would let me do a little more work on actual people, until eventually he let me design my own pieces.”

Conversation kind of lulled for a while after that, and Stiles focused on the task at hand. It was Derek who eventually ended up breaking the silence. 

“I think you’re a lot more interesting than you give yourself credit for,” his voice was pretty quiet, especially against the sound tattoo machine. If Stiles weren’t so close to Derek, he probably would have missed it all together. 

The sentiment, as simple as it was, went straight through Stiles’ body and warmed him to his core.

“So, uh, you kinda disappeared for a while,” Stiles said, bringing the machine back down to Derek’s skin. “I thought you’d finally gotten tired of being kicked out of the shop, and left me for good.”

“What can I say, those plastic chairs out front were the highlight of my day,” Derek snorted. Stiles chuckled under his breath, and almost followed up with some snarky bullshit, but Derek spoke again. 

“Your brother kind of scared the shit out of me.”

Stiles laughed, loud and happy. “Yeah, he can be pretty intense sometimes. It's all out of love though.” 

Derek smiled, biting his lip for a moment before he said “I've never been big brothered before. Usually I'm the one giving speeches.”

Inside, Stiles was a little warmed at the idea that he was worthy of someone giving the speech for him. 

“I, uh….” he trailed off for a bit, not quite sure how much he wanted to tell Derek. “A long time ago I got fucked with pretty bad, so Isaac’s a little protective.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Derek said, solemnly.

“It happens. It was a while ago, and I moved on,” Stiles shrugged, relieved that Derek wasn’t asking too many questions about it right now. Maybe he’d tell him some day in the future, but for now, he was content to just leave it.

“I'm glad you didn't stay away for too long,” he said softly, more vulnerable than he'd been around the teen. 

Derek looked back at Stiles, his eyes searching his face for a moment before he spoke in the same low tone. “Yeah, me too.”

“Whatever, you just came back to cash in on a free tattoo,” he grinned, winking playfully, trying to bring back the light-heartedness from earlier, when Stiles wasn’t so nervous and didn’t feel so vulnerable.

“What can I say? It isn’t every day that a hot guy promises to buy me a tattoo,” Derek grinned.

“A ‘hot guy, ‘eh?” Stiles got a secret thrill out of watching the blush rise up on Derek’s cheeks. 

The rest of the time passed by pretty quickly, with the two of them chatting easily and effortlessly. Stiles told Derek about all the shenanigans he and Isaac pulled as teens and how everyone at the shop got to know each other. Derek told Stiles several of his sports stories, and about the one time the bus left for an Away Game without him and Boyd, so they had to speed all the way there to make it before the game started. 

All in all, it was more fun than Stiles had had doing a tattoo in a long time. And before he knew it, he had finished the piece, and was giving it the final wipe down before he helped Derek out of the chair. 

“What do you think?” he asked, helping Derek adjust the hand mirror so he could see his new tattoo in the full length mirror. 

His grin was so vibrant, it was like watching the sun rise, and Stiles felt his heart do that thing where it skipped a beat. 

“It’s incredible,” Derek bit his lip, but it didn’t dim the radiance of his smile one bit. “It’s even better than the pictures.”

“High praise,” Stiles opened his mouth, so tempted to do it, to just _ask_ Derek out. Instead, he bit back the words he wanted to say, and settled for, “Let me wrap that up, and you can get out of here.”

Derek nodded and turned away, walking back to the chair. 

Stiles wrapped it in Saran wrap, taping it down securely, before he helped Derek into his shirt. He pulled out his aftercare sheet and went over it point by point, giving Derek plenty of time to ask any questions. Stiles found it eternally adorable that Derek was hanging on his every instruction, brow scrunched in seriousness while he honest to God took notes in the margin.

“I’m gonna write my number on here,” Stiles grabbed a pen from his station, jotting down the digits hurriedly, “And if you have any questions that you think of later, you can hit me up whenever.”

Derek swiped his thumb over the digits, biting his bottom lip as he looked at it. And if Derek looked a little flushed as he folded the paper and put it in his pocket, Stiles assumed it was just adrenaline from the tattoo session.

“Good to know.” His eyes found Stiles’ again, and he gave him another one of those soft smiles. “Thank you.”

Stiles made him take one of the protein bars with him, and made him swear he’d eat something nutritious when he got home. Derek rolled his eyes, but shoved the bar in his pocket nonetheless. He let Stiles walk him to the door, and thanked him again before he finally said goodnight. 

Stiles stood at the door, resting his head against the glass for several minutes and replaying the evening over and over in his mind. 

*

Stiles had been thinking about Derek ever since he’d gotten his piece done last week. He hadn’t mentioned wanting anything else done, and they hadn’t had any other standing plans to get together, so when he came into the shop the following week, Stiles was a little surprised. 

“Hey, man, how’s it going?” Stiles nodded, stepping out from behind the counter and coming up to greet him. 

“It’s good,” Derek grinned. “I mean, it itches like crazy right now, but it’s good.”

“Itching is a good sign,” Stiles smiled. “Can I take a look? See how it’s doing?”

“Yeah, go for it,” Derek turned around, grabbing at the collar of his shirt to pull it upward, exposing his back to Stiles. 

Stiles pushed his shirt up higher, ducking down a bit to look at the ink. It looked like Derek had been taking care of it, and Stiles was impressed at how quickly it was healing up. 

“Once it’s all finished, if you want to come by I can do touch ups if there’s anywhere that needs it,” Stiles stepped back. 

Derek turned around to face Stiles again, getting his shirt all sorted out. “Thanks.”

“So what brings you in?” Stiles crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Not that I’m not happy to see you or anything,” he grinned. 

“Well,” Derek took a deep breath, ducking his head rubbing his hands together before he looked at Stiles again. 

“You mentioned being into baseball. The Mets specifically and, well…they’re gonna be here next week playing the Giants,” Derek scratched the back of his neck. If the lighting was any better in the shop, Stiles would swear Derek was actually blushing. “And I got tickets to one of the games.”

“No way, dude! That’s awesome!” Stiles grinned. “I gotta admit, I’m a little jealous.”

“Yeah, well,” Derek chuckled uneasily. Then, as if mustering up the courage, he took a deep breath and looked Stiles in the eyes, his expression serious. “Would you like to go with me? To the game?”

“Go with you? Like…” Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Derek blushed and looked away, “Never mind.”

“No, no, hey, wait. Derek,” Stiles reached out, grabbing Derek’s arm. 

Derek looked up at him, expression unsure, but hopeful. 

“I’d love to go,” he grinned, biting his lip. “I’d love to go on a _date_ with you.”

“Yeah?” Derek’s grin was electric, and it warmed Stiles from head to toe. 

“Yeah.”

“Awesome! Okay. Cool….that’s cool,” Derek rambled, seemingly talking to himself more than to Stiles, seeming relieved that he’d accepted his offer. 

Stiles wrote his phone number on a scratch of paper and handed it to Derek. He knew Derek already had his number on the aftercare sheet, but this was symbolic. This wasn't an artist handing out his contact info to a client for work purposes. This was Stiles handing over his information to the guy he'd been falling for for the past few months.

Derek took the slip of paper a bit too quickly. “Cool,” he said, nodding his head a little over eager. “I’ll, uh, I’ll call you? With the info and everything?”

“Let me know the details,” Stiles replied, seeming way cooler on the outside than he felt on the inside. 

“I will.” Derek’s grin was infectious.

Derek left the shop and Stiles smiled excitedly. 

He turned around and saw Isaac standing in the doorway of the back office, leaning against the door jamb, watching Stiles with a raised eyebrow and a smug grin.

Stiles rolled his eyes, chuckling under his breath. 

“I told you so,” Isaac said in a sing-songy voice, turning around and ambling back to the drawing table. “You have a thing for the schoolboy!”

“Whatever!” Stiles shouted towards Isaac's retreating back. He rolled his eyes at the comment, but couldn't stop the grin that snuck onto his face. 

_Yeah_ , Stiles thought. 

He totally had a thing for the schoolboy. 

*  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *  
>  **WARNINGS: Mild Spoilers**  
>  Isaac's backstory\- So at one point, Stiles and Isaac get into an argument, and Stiles starts yelling at Isaac. Isaac gets triggered by the situation and in the next paragraph the story has mentions to past abuse and growing up in an abusive household. You NEVER "see" it in the story, but if it makes you uncomfortable then you might want to skip over that paragraph. 
> 
> Stiles was in an inappropriate relationship, and it haunts him \- Back when Stiles was a teen he dated a guy named Matt, who was WAY too old to be dating a teenager. Nothing weird happens to Stiles at the time (aside from the fact that he shouldn't have been with him in the first place); but as an adult who can reflect on the dynamic, Stiles feels extremely uncomfortable about the type of relationship they had and it's a huge source of shame for him. So much so, that it's kind of the thing that keeps him from making a move on Derek. He can't really separate the Past Toxic Relationship from the thing blooming with Derek. It's reflected upon, but never "shown". There is one paragraph where Stiles goes into detail about why he feels so off about it, which might be triggering to some. If you're sensitive to inappropriate relationships regarding age differences, then you should tread carefully. (Or maybe just skip it altogether?) 
> 
> Stay safe everyone. I'd rather you didn't read this at all than risk making yourself uncomfortable with the subject matter. 
> 
>  * 
> 
> (Seriously, I'm actively working on the Liquid Gold update. I have to post the next three chapters at once because of reasons, so it's taking me a while to get it all together. But, soon! I swear!)


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